


A Love Letter to Yellow Diamond

by LePetitPappillon



Category: Steven Universe - Fandom
Genre: F/F, First person addressed to Yellow Diamond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LePetitPappillon/pseuds/LePetitPappillon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blue Diamond shares her feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Love Letter to Yellow Diamond

I think I’ve always been at least a little crazy about you. It seems to fluctuate, but throughout the course of my life, it’s ranged from admiration to being absolutely infatuated. Sometimes you would catch my eye, and I ended up staring. You might be standing near a window, thinking, and your gem would capture the light and all of you sparkled. You were like a ray of sunshine. 

One time you asked me what my favorite thing about you was. I was caught off guard, not because I hadn’t thought about it or that I didn’t know. Trying to answer that question was like holding a handful of gorgeous jewels and being forced to select and keep just one. Saying “all of you” would have been too vague, naming one quality would be too shallow, and saying “I don’t know” would be like saying, “Nothing at all.” 

So I stayed silent, in a panic that likely wasn’t obvious. I might have made a noise at the back of my throat. 

“I shouldn’t have asked.” You said. “That’s a vain question.” 

“No. I’m just thinking. I could write a three volume series about all the things I like about you. But my favorite thing…My very favorite thing—that’s a tough one.” 

Your cheeks had turned golden. That was one of them. I adored that—and you would always make this expression that was somewhat shy, but also flattered. 

Thinking back on it—as charming as it was—I don’t know that you understood your own emotions. 

“I’ve decided my favorite thing about you.” 

We were lying in a pile of pillows, inside my chambers. We would end up making love, because we always did. But in that moment, we were still clothed and close together. You might have had one of your legs wrapped around me. I always loved that too. 

“What is it?” 

“Your eyes.” 

I laughed. 

“I’m being serious, Blue. They’re gorgeous.” Your leg drew me in nearer, as if we could get any nearer. And you warmed me. I could feel the blood and the feelings rush into my face, and I wanted you. I suspect it was one of your powers; perhaps you didn’t even know about it. But you seduced me every time, without fail. 

You still do. 

“I think it’s because I had to wait to see them. You wouldn’t take your cloak off around me until we had become quite close. Of course, I always knew you were lovely, but how lovely came as a shock. You looked exactly like the goddess your reputation alleged you to be, and I could finally see your beautiful eyes without a shadow over them—your long lashes and your shapely brows. I was grateful you had decided to show me. It took me a long while to get over them.” 

You kissed me, briefly, on the lips. 

I left claw marks on your back. 

“That’s not to say that I don’t like all of your others features. I love everything about you. But your eyes…They calm me. You calm me.” 

“Darling.” 

Of course, we ended up making out. I’m not sure which one of us initiated it. It could have been me, but you usually instigated such things. Maybe we both leaned in at exactly the same time because we both wanted one another. Though, in my case, I needed to have your tongue in my mouth and your fingers between my legs, and you arms around me—all of it. I needed all of you. 

You must have known; perhaps you planned it. You didn’t seem to be particularly troubled by the fact that I never really answered your question. You could have brought it up just to tell me your favorite thing—the same way you might ask someone their opinion for the purpose of stating yours. 

But I had wanted to share all of my favorite things about you, especially after you had said such kind words. Like how I loved your eyes too, and your confidence. Your strength. Your energy. Your outfits. Your hair. The way you blushed. The way you smiled, especially at me. How cute you were, when you were just relaxing—something that took you some practice, by the way. Or even when you were going off about something. I loved the expressions you would make, and how you were completely oblivious to how funny and dramatic some of them were. I loved (and still love) your neck, even though you seemed to be self-conscious of it sometimes. I loved your body; I loved your mind. I loved how you could excite me into delirium when you would so much as hold me or look at me with that certain spark in your eyes. 

No one before or since has made me feel that way. 

I loved how we could completely lose ourselves in one another, whether we were joking and laughing, fusing, or making love. It always seemed like after all of it, when we had to go our separate ways, that I was waking up from a dream. I would see myself later, in a mirror and count all the passionate bruises you had left me—some of which I didn’t remember receiving. You marked my neck, my breasts, my thighs. You swelled my tongue and spanked me raw. 

And when the cool air would settle around your affectionate wounds, it would remind me of your fire, and I longed for more of it. Especially your sounds—as I pulled your hair and bit your neck and placed the palm of my hand over your diamond—they echoed throughout my mind. You were always so goddamn loud, and I loved that too. 

But one thing that drove me up the wall is how, after a passionate session, you always had to leave so soon. 

You did that day too. 

I was in an exhausted pile among my cushions, bruised and maybe a little bloody, catching my breath with your body on top of mine. 

“Blue—”

I wrapped my legs around you. “Don’t you leave.” Then my arms. Even that took a lot out of me. I couldn’t hold you very tightly. “Stay with me.” 

“I’ve stayed too long as it is, Love.” 

You, however, seemed to have plenty of energy. 

“Yellow, make love to me again.” 

You laughed. “You’re spent.” And you kissed my cheek. 

I was, but I would do just about anything to get you to stay, even though I was beginning to fall asleep. 

“We’ll see one another again soon.” 

“But I want to enjoy this moment with you, now.” 

You left me anyway, with a few touches of your lips. I didn’t wake up until sometime later, with a very confused and concerned Pearl calling “My Diamond!” 

I did earnestly believe your excuse: that you had so much to do you couldn’t remain any longer. You were constantly working, after all. However, I think shame might have been a part of it. Of the few times you did stay, you seemed uncomfortable to have me touching you. I remember how you moved away and delegated yourself to holding my hand. 

It’s not because the sex was bad or that you didn’t enjoy yourself. On the contrary, I think you enjoyed yourself more than you ever intended to; that you became so entranced that you lost yourself entirely, and that was a frightening thought for you. Doing this ‘shameful’ act that organic life forms take part to procreate was supposed to be well beneath us. We’re Diamonds, after all. Yet, there you were, pinned against my pillows or my sheets or shoulder-deep in my bath, declaring your pleasure so liberally. 

You hated that you loved every moment of it. 

You hated how much you lost control, which is a shame. It seemed to me like it was cathartic for you, like it was something you desperately needed. But as soon as the high wore off and you transitioned from lover to empress, you realized what we had done. You saw the marks on my body, and on yours, and found them unbecoming of a queen. 

Perhaps they were, but that was quite alright with me. I never really understood what there was to be ashamed of. It’s not as though they came from another kind of gem—I’d love to see any of them try to mark you. The bruises came from one Diamond to another, and I wish you could have given me your heart more easily. Sometimes I felt as though it was my fault. Though, looking back now, I know that I had nothing to do with it. Those negative emotions, your hang-ups—they were all yours. I know you enjoyed our time together, even though you felt like you shouldn’t have. 

Even now, after everything, my heart aches for you, Yellow. It seems as though you’re more buried in work than you ever were in the past. I was completely serious when I told you that you needed to make time for yourself, but perhaps you’re more content, driving yourself into the ground and making the bags beneath your eyes grow larger. 

I hope that isn’t the case. 

I’d be more than happy to fuck all your pain away, if you’d only let me.


End file.
